Being Emily
by DemonTsunami
Summary: Call me Lee, everybody does. Expect for Nathanial Rose, the man who made me, he calls me Emily. Never mind that Emily died. Or that making me, in her image, is forbidden. Some people only see what they want to see. Me? I'd settle for being let outside.


My father made me on June 24th, 2067, in secret. Made, what a funny word. People, real people, are not made, they are born, they wail the first labored breath of oxygen after being kept in the serene darkness of the womb, they feel the utter shock of the first glimpse of piercing daylight, they are tiny, fragile babies that know no words, that acknowledge neither death or despair. They, for those brief years, are only aware of life, sanctuary, and family, the rest of the world, the ugly, scarred face of humanity, is hidden behind a cloak of protective love, shielded from them by nurturing hands.

I have never been young, nor small, I yearn to know it, the gentle laugh of a child, like a soap bubble that pops midair, wonderment, awe, I know little of such things. I have been fifteen, awkward and shy, sixteen, rebellious and wild, seventeen, dark and morose, but I have never been five, young and carefree, the envy eats at me. Emily Delilah Rose was a baby, she grew, she learned, she laughed, she loved and made mistakes, and then, on one blustery November night, Emily Rose was kidnapped, brutally beaten, raped, and murdered. Her father, Nathanial Rose, just happens to be the lead researcher in Genetic Supplementation and Renewal Project; he is my father as well, my maker, my creator. He named me Emily, but I am not her, I shudder, my blue eyes are hers, my long auburn hair, even the small mole on my neck, but I am not, nor will I ever be, Emily Delilah Rose. She was human; I am merely her artificial replica, her replacement by a father who could not bear to face the truth. Emily Rose is gone, dead, and I am incapable of changing that.

Call me Lee. Everyone does. Save for Nathanial, he calls me Emma, with a fond look in his eye. He only sees his daughter, not the clone, the girl who has never known being small, who knows her memories only through Vid recordings, trying to memorize a life I have never lived. That love shining in his eyes is not for me, that tenderness in his blue gaze, it is for poor dead Emily, I am merely a usurper, a thief, I am her DNA, her shell of skin and hair follicles, even her laugh, but I am not Emily, I am not the tender girl I have watched on Vid Screens, her eyes bright with excitement, her mouth twisted into a genuine grin, I mimic her in the mirror, but my reflection ends up scowling in frustration, I lack her sincerity.

Technically I lack any individuality, and therefore, the pride associated with being unique is not mine to feel. I will always be a carbon copy, and like all other copies, I will always lack the potent essence of the original. Its why, I've come to understand; making one such as me is forbidden. I will always know I am fake, a duplicate. Haunted by the girl in the picture frames, she mocks me with her knowing grin, as if she knows, like I do, that my existence isn't up to par with the fragile life she lived, like a candle flame in the dark, all the more beautiful for its gradual decent towards death, all the more brilliant because you realize it will eventually end, each flicker of the flame unpredictable, unique. I am a mirror, reflecting the flame, but I will never burn, never shed light, no one will watch me in awe, I hold no warmth, merely the reflection of it.

"Lee, are you sulking again?" Tess tsks me through her perfect, too white teeth. I note that Barbie Mom has gone for the executive secretary look today, a thin white silk blouse, tight pencil skirt, and three inch pumps. She is a flawless specimen, milky white skin, hair like gold threads, woven perfectly into a pleated braid, I eye the dusty navy dots beneath her eyes, Tess is also a clone. But she isn't like me, Tess is specific, she holds a single purpose, knowing nothing of the blonde beauty she is spawned from, and therefore she knows no regret, only her mission, she is made to serve, and to enjoy the servitude, and her one duty? Surrogate mother.

I would never, I am certain, even given the chance to be small and fragile, have seen this too chipper woman as my mother, her naïve enthusiasm grates on my skin like sand paper, I am insanely jealous of her peace of mind, not to mention how much I loathe her coddling. I still in surprise, is this how I really feel about her? I've always tolerated her affection before, but I can no longer deny that it chafes, the realization is shocking. She peers at me, head tilted, eager expectance etched onto her features.

"No," I retort sullenly, betraying that I am indeed sulking. My fingers twirl the silver spoon in the large, comically distorted cartoon cup I drink from. Emily adored this little yellow bird with a speech impediment; I glare at the too large blue bird eyes, the character holds little appeal for me, I have dutifully watched the Vid of it, and find the bird to be a trickster, a violation of nature. In my opinion, the idea that the cat does not kill and eat the bird, is too ludicrous for amusement, cats are more intelligent predators, I adore them, the cheeky little optimist in a cage deserves to know the hardship of trying to thwart an adapt predator, I grin nastily, my mind filled with images of cartoon violence.

"Oh my sweet troubled little Lee," suddenly I am trapped in the scent of baby powder and flowery perfume; two lithe arms gripe me in a too soft, stifling embrace. I shove against the cage of limbs. "My darling little girl," Tess enthuses softly, petting my hair as she coos.

"Ugh, stop, no, quit it!" I squirm as she continues her administrations with simpering efficiency. My hand is patted, as light words of comfort drip from her lips, meaningless tid bits, nothing phrases, and they irritate me further, plunging my mood of contemplative resentment into a full scale temper. I scowl at her darkly, yanking back my hands from her gentle motherly touch.

"So grown up," Tess remarks with misty eyes, "Can't a mother comfort her baby?" My nose wrinkles.

"I am three years old," I begin.

"Seventeen," she corrects happily.

"That's hardly _grown up_," I emphasize with an elegant eye roll, "And," I emphasize slowly, "I am _not_ your baby." Sheesh. Someone must've programmed her brain with too many Brady Bunch episodes.

"What's wrong?"Tess simpers as she takes a seat next to me on the large leather sofa; it's a deep onyx, the dyed animal skin soft and buttery to the touch. I glare at her from the corner of my eyes, pursing my lips and crossing my arms. I eye her in momentary speculation; the softness of her expression, the genuine curiosity in her gaze melts some of my thick thorns. I shrug and sigh.

"Was Emily ever this moody?" I ask. Tess frowns deeply; I watch the lines form around her mouth, wondering if/when she'll get wrinkles.

"You _are_ Emily," She emphasizes cheerily; there's a wariness in her eyes that warns me to stop. Usually, that look would be enough, I would stop, but I can't, somehow, I feel the need to press my limits. It's a revitalizing feeling.

"No, I'm Lee," I correct stiffly, eyeing the blue eyed girl grinning at me from the mantle with unease, her photo smiles blissfully at me from a platinum photo frame, mocking my own discontent. Tess stiffens, forcing a congenial expression of confusion on her too perfect face.

"Yes, short for Emily," she beams at me as if she's just figured out how to condense the equation of pie into something less than infinite numbers. I should've known better than to talk to Barbie Mom. "My darling little girl." She strokes my hair. She's so touchy-feely it makes me want to gag on sweetness and barf rainbows.

"Fine, _mom_," I'll play it her way, the way she's wired, thought-programmed, what-ever, she doesn't seem capable of breaching the parameters of the charade. The ruse being that I am Emily, that she isn't seven floors beneath us, in a marble casket, well hidden from her father's eyes. That she never died. No dusty blue marks infect my flesh beneath the eye, this means I'm technically contraband, illegal, a clone without logic parameters, without programming, it makes me feel a little unique, despite the fact that I'm not. I like that feeling sometimes. Other times, I wish my world view was as disturbingly cut and dry as Tess', perhaps I wouldn't question my existence so often, I don't think Tess has ever questioned anything in her life. But then again, could one honestly say such an existence as that is living? I shake my head in an effort to clear it of philosophic banter.

I take a deep breath, reveling in the feel of oxygen compacting in my lungs, "I don't belong here, I'm sick of always being stuck inside watching the Vie, I want friends." Tess blinks.

"You have friends, your father and I love you very much," She smiles widely at me, inordinately pleased with her own response.

"I want _more_," I emphasize. She startles, smoothing down her black pencil skirt nervously, she doesn't meet my gaze.

"That's for your father to allow," she reprimands. It means no, it _always _means no. I explode, throwing the ceramic cup at the wall and watching it combust into jagged shards with satisfaction, cold hot chocolate drips down in spatters of dreary brown, Tess is beyond shocked, gaping like a cod fish. I eye her in petulant challenge. I know now why I hate that yellow bird so much, it lives in a cage, and it _likes _it.

"I WANT OUT!" I scream. She blanches.

"I will phone your father," her voice is weak. Oh no, I've scared poor Tess. I smirk at her, eyes heated.

"Good," I snap, "Tell him…tell him…" I flounder, and then, suddenly, a logic parameter snaps, and I realize something new. My eyes narrow as vicious glee clouds my face, I must look grim, I'm certain Emily never looked so menacing, so heartless. My spine stiffens, "Tell him I went out." Tess' jaw pops with a soft exhale of disbelief, her light blue eyes are wide, like saucers.

"B-but Emily dear, you c-c-can't go out," she falters, have I overloaded her intake? Was she not programmed to curb defiance? Oh well, I await the day her bubble head pops with anticipation, I imagine it will occur somewhat like a water balloon. Swelling and swelling until it splatters.

"Why?" I cross my arms, "I'm Emily right? I go out all the time." This really gets her. I am but I'm not, I can but I can't, she would but I'm not allowed. If anyone sees the face of Nathanial's poor dead daughter, animated and alive, I will be destroyed, disabled, burned, and my creator? He will be prosecuted, disgraced and imprisoned. I think I've broke Tess' brain, she stares at me dumbly. The blank disbelief in her usually too friendly eyes is refreshing.

She lifts her wrist and hits the black button that uploads to the house's main frame, "Call Nathan," she practically whimpers, "Emergency." The sound of classical music serenades from the speakers in the walls, I march for the door, not sparing my 'mother' a backward glance. I jerk to a halt as I hear the male voice boom through the speaker system.

"Tessa, I was in the middle of a meeting," He snaps, he hates to be bothered at work. I can even picture the dissatisfied curl of his lip, the narrowness of his dark blue eyes.

"S-she's trying to leave," Tess sobs, her eyes are dry despite the watery tone of her voice, are her tear ducts malfunctioning? I decide I don't care, my emotions, as Jeremy would say, are free-ranging into a deteriorating state of discord. I am becoming unstable and irrational, I know this, yet strangely am incapable of stopping myself. Like a slippery slope, I find that the further I slide, the more momentum I gain, the harder it is for me to stop, I hope I don't crash.

"Emma!" His voice is like glass shards, polished stone; it cuts and remains unmovable, hard and shiny with resolve. "You've skipped your stabilizers haven't you?" His tone is brimming with censure, exasperation, "I've told you Tessa, you must watch her take them, my dear daughter hates taking her pills, and she's clever enough to hide them." His tone is filled with soft reprimand, and also whispered, he is at work after all.

Thoughts infest my head. His daughter is dead. Emily never had to take pills. She wasn't a clone. LIAR. The word is stuck to the roof of my mouth.

"I took my pill," I lie. I've never lied to him before, it feels nice. Like sneaking ice cream feels nice, or hiding from someone who's looking for you.

"Emma, enough," he commands imperiously, "Must I send Jeremy over?" I pale.

"NO!"

"Then take your pills," he orders smugly, "Tessa, force them down her throat if you must. We will discuss this disobedience when I arrive home."

"I want to go outside!" There, I've said it. His sharp inhale is like a knife in my heart.

"No, you don't," he dismisses me easily, "You're merely confused, take your pills, we will discuss this after, and only after." After my pill, I will not want to go outside. I will want to please him, and Tess, and Jeremy, I will sit and watch the Vid, I will mimic Tweety and love the yellow bird. I bare my teeth in a silent snarl.

"I won't do it," my hands shake; I have never defied him so openly.

"Jeremy will be over shortly," he snaps, "Confine her to her room, Tess, no exceptions." The harrowing sound of the disconnect click echoes in my head like a siren's wail. Tess eyes me sadly.

"Now you've upset him, really Lee, you are such a bad girl some times," Her blue eyes waver, "You know how much we care for you, the outside is too dangerous." Care, another funny word, caring doesn't render you incapable of hurting what is cared for. Caring doesn't stop pain, and yet they toss me this word, as if it's a salve for the pain inside, it never soothes, in fact, lately it nettles.

"Because I might be beaten, raped and murdered?" I challenge. She gasps, her hand fluttering over her mouth in horror. Suddenly, her whole demeanor changes, she is no longer vapid and concerned, but a stern, narrow eyed woman with a frown on her lips. I like this change; she no longer resembles a blow up doll, a plastic surface of perfection filled with air, that she isn't completely submissive is a bit of surprise, but a welcome one.

"You will watch your language," she warns.

"Raped," I spit the word at her, "DEAD." These words are forbidden. My head lashes to the side, pain explodes in my cheek, I jerk and tremble in pain and absolute stunned shock. I have _never_ been hit. My cheek is tender; my fingers trace the pink flesh in disbelief. Tess is griping the hand she used to smack me as if it is a poisonous toad, her powder blue eyes wide in alarm and fear as she eyes it. Her attention moves to me carefully, as if she's stuck in slow motion. I touch my own cheek, so this is violence? It's rather…crude.

"Y-you mustn't t-tell, you c-can't," her voice is hollow with horror. My face stings, I analyze the new sensation. It's bearable. I wonder what 'father' will do to her for striking me. The shiny look of terror in her eyes tells me she is as aware of her punishment as I am, there are no second chances for malfunctioning clones, they will disable her. Compassion, such a foreign thing, like a hot roll of cotton around my heart, rolls around my brain. Yes, she hit me, but I suspect that being hit happens occasionally, to real people, and that mollifies my most immediate anger at her strike. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, I yearn for real, even if real is painful.

"I won't take my pill," I tell her, "and I won't tell." I note her state analytically, her cheeks are devoid of their naturally pink tone, her pupils pinpricks of fear, my eyes narrow as her head begins to shake 'no' automatically. She looks shaken.

"Jeremy will know," her voice is barely a whisper. My eyes narrow in sudden realization. Her response should have been something bubbly, something like 'oh we can't do that' as she plasters that hundred kilowatt smile on her lips, and not this pained whispered admission. Jeremy's smug words filter through my memory, the day he brought her to Nathan, so proud of himself. She's programmed to be peppy, _always_.

"How long?" I demand. She blinks, taken aback, even going as far to take a physical step backwards. Her hands are shaking.

"What?"

"How long have you been breaching you programming?" The unnatural stillness of her posture gives her away immediately, her eyes shutter in miserable defeat. She tries to deny it, self preservation I suppose, but I cut her to the quick, I will not be fooled. When she does admit it, her whole appearance shifts, she is no longer the bubbly 'mother' but a sad, terrified woman, who fears her own end. Finally, something I can relate to.

"Two weeks," her voice is so weak, like tissue paper. Her head hangs like a pendulum, I smirk.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I arch one eyebrow, this expression is my prize gem, most cannot achieve it, it took me weeks of failed attempts before I schooled my brows to do this. Emily has never, in any Vid or photo, raised one eyebrow. She sputters, unnerved by my light, cheery tone.

"N-N-Nathanial, he will…" She swallows, eyes watery, "Replace me." Her shoulders sag. I snort, rolling my eyes.

"He'll never notice," I enthuse brightly, "He's rather dim about those things." Tess' arms hug her middle. "Now Jeremy," I scowl, "He's the one to watch out for." Jeremy, the young, too observant protégée of my father, with his puppy dog eyes and his cheerful sadism, I hate him. He's the one who invented the pills I take, 'to calm her', he told my father slyly, adding matter-of-factly 'she's too emotional to be trusted.' I gnash my teeth. Jeremy is my enemy. My nemesis. He is the black and white striped cat, I the yellow canary. Only, in reality, as I've said, the cat is a much keener adversary than the bird, especially one like myself, whose wings have been clipped. Rendering me defenseless against the mocking cat, or are they? I dismiss the notion uneasily.

"He knows," she admits miserably. I choke. Soulful blue eyes meet mine mournfully; I never knew Tess was capable of misery. Slight discomfort, too cheery displays of being put-out, but I've never seen such raw emotion in her eyes, such hopeless despair. She must be a good pretender. For a brief moment, I allow myself a sliver of admiration for her. Then I realize what she's said, Jeremy _knows_?

"W-what?"

"He gave me the override," she admits in a choked voice. "He will change it now that you know." There is something in her tone, her manner, that screams that she is not telling me something, something she very much fears I will discover. My intuition, once cataloged by Jeremy himself as being 'scarily accurate', tells me whatever secret she carries is a dark one. I wonder if that's why he began drugging me, or more accurately, convincing Nathan I needed 'stabilizing'. Normal human children are not 'stabilized' the Vid has taught me as much, so why do I need the pills? All they do is lull me into a completely complacent, lethargic state, one where even if I had intuitive thoughts, I would dismiss them as 'too tiring'.

I never even realized how very much I had changed, until last week, when I stopped taking them.

"Why," I begin carefully, "would he do that?" She swallows; her knuckles are white with the force she uses to hug herself. Suddenly, a grave decision is made; I see it in the steely resolve she faces me with, determination flows from her like an aura of red.

"I am programmed to be loyal," she tells me meaningfully. I frown. What? She smiles patiently, but the happiness doesn't reach her eyes, "To allow no other man to touch me but your father." I still don't get it. She giggles bitterly, touching her forehead with her palm, hiding her face, "Do you know of reproduction?" I pale, I can feel my blood drain from my face, leaving me the same color as paper. Sex. I have heard of it, read about its mechanics, everything I've read makes the process seem…disturbing, messy, and highly uncomfortable. It repulses me. Thinking of Jeremy breaching Tess' parameters so he can…whatever to her, makes me was to hurl, and this time, it won't be rainbows.

"I hate him," my fierceness is genuine; "I hate him so much!" My own venom is surprising, but welcome. Tess nods in affirmation.

"Me too," she confesses, her voice still miniscule.

"Jeremy Banner, front door," the automated system informs us in a sterile monotone. We both jump and then freeze, exhaling slowly, preparing ourselves for the infamous Jeremy. Yes, us, this secret, this knowledge makes us more than artificial daughter and mother, we're now cohorts, friends. I smile. I did get a new friend, imagine that. The glee makes me giddy.

"You let him in," at her apprehensive profile I add apologetically, "I'm in my room, remember?" I wink at her. She bites her lip, eyes rapidly scanning my face with worry. What is she searching for? Is there something on my face? Suddenly I remember, she slapped me, I grin lopsidedly at the memory.

"I hit myself," I inform her slyly, "for attention; you know how irrational I am off my pills." A small, tentative smile forms on her shell pink lips. I nod at her, heading towards the back hall, to my room, and she hurries to the front of the house as the sound of Jeremy's too-cheery hello resounds through the loud speakers, the security system is alerting us that it's allowed him entrance. I shudder at the knowledge that I will face him soon, scurrying towards the sanctuary of my room in desperation. The locked door won't stop him, but it will inconvenience him, only Tess and Nathan have access to unlock my bedroom door. Will Tess help him? I suppose she will, she seems to fear him. Not that I blame her, he scares me as well.

Jeremy Banner, V.P. and Head Research Assistant at Rose Inc. is a tall, muscled man. He has sun bleached blonde hair that he allows to grow too long, fluttering into his piercing, cat-like green eyes, that give his boyish appearance the edge of danger, hinting at what lurks beneath his oh so charming smile. I speculate that that is the reason he hides them behind his silly bangs, those predatory eyes are cold, always, no matter how charismatic the smile beneath them may be; those eyes speak the truth, even while the rest of his boyish good looks distract from it. His mouth is large and full, a smile that I have heard him claim is 'infectious', sports a row of perfect whitened teeth, they seem to bright against the bronze tone of his skin. He is not, in truth, the stereotypical villain of the Vid, with a pencil mustache and dark gleaming beady eyes, but it matters not what the packaging, when he finally snaps at Tessa to allow him in, a chilly shiver of foreboding follows his entrance, and I can nearly hear the screeching crescendo of music reaching its pivotal, screeching note, as those bottle glass eyes meet mine.

"Hi Ems," he won't call me Lee; he enjoys reminding me of what I am, and therefore, what I'm not. .

"Jerms," I nod at him, utilizing his absurd manner of selecting pet names against him. And shortly after wishing I'd held my tongue, because his large, piercing green eyes grace me with me a long, suspicious look that probes more effectively than the digital sensors he's brought in his little black brief case. I imagine it's resembles the look a child gets before holding magnifying glass up in the air, seemingly innocent, but deceiving so, as the child's intent becomes clear: to ignite the tiny little ant below, incinerating and burning the defenseless creature for personal amusement. His cheesy grin is back before I can blink.

"Sassy, I like that in a girl," he gushes without sincerity, "I hear you've been tricking our little Tess here," he waggles one finger at me in censure, a dopy smirk on his lips, "That's a big no-no little Ems."

"Fuck you," I snarl. He blinks, a dark, unnatural anger clouds his face for a spliced moment of eternity, it vanishes like magic, but I saw it there, and it's chilled me to the bone. His good natured grin is back, I stiffen as he approaches. His gait is easy, unbothered, his eyes like needles, piercing me, pricking at my skin.

"Tess, be a dear and get me a drink, yeah? Our little Ems here has something on her mind," he cocks his head at me playfully, "don't you darling?"

I scowl up at him, and then a horrible idea pops into my head, and I go rigid. I have never, in the three years since I was created, considered hurting another person, not really, but suddenly, I realize I would like to punch Jeremy, very much. It's not as horrible as I would hope it to be, this urge to harm a human, but as a replica, a scientists creation, do I have the right to strike him? Do I care? I never really thought about how many things I questioned daily, never acknowledge it, until those pills came and stripped it from me.


End file.
